


Chance of a Lifetime

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Beating, Consensual Violence, Dacryphilia, Insults, M/M, Revenge Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: "You probably hate thisch job, right." The Klokateer didn't reply. "Come on, be honescht with me.""It's... not the greatest, sire.""Well you're free to take your anger out on me. In whatever way you want.""...Excuse me?"





	

Being a Klokateer was considered both the best and worst job. It was well-paying and a world-renowned business, certainly. Everyone thought Klokateers were badass, amazing and totally fucking brutal, but also they died every three damn seconds. And when they weren't dropping like flies, generally a Klokateer's job consisted of getting yelled at and berated by the likes of Dethklok. Oh, brother, that was all that ever happened. And Chuck knew he'd receive hell if he didn't just grin and bear it.

Most Klokateers claimed to giving up their names, but on lunch break they all just became normal people. Joes and Janes and what have you. Thus, Chuck was just Chuck with a mask. (Also he just happened to respond to '437', but that didn't count as having an erased identity.)

But despite still having a name and, dare he say, a personality, the last thing he wanted was to lose this job. Sure he was forcibly stripped of his individuality, but that fat Klokateer paycheck made his mouth water. Though it was still fucking terrible. His existence would probably be eaten up by contracts and waivers as soon as he were to be killed, and he'd be forgotten, both by society and the very douchebags he worked for. Not that he expected much better from the likes of Dethklok. They were all hateful, crude, thankless shitheads. 

Never said 'please' or 'thank you' or 'sorry'. Unforgiving, never listening, left messes all over Mordhaus, always yelling and drinking and puking wherever they wanted. Inept, crude, obnoxious, always angry and insulting and demeaning. And they were world-famous. Not afraid to sack their workers, either. Charles was a really fucked-up guy.

So Chuck would just grin and bear it. Sure, he hated his job, but he'd rather not die, and once again, the salary numbers were so big that he could probably afford to just buy Mordhaus himself. Not to mention he couldn't help but feel pride in protecting the 7th-largest economic power in the world. Not to mention he was taller than all of them and stronger than at least a couple of them. Working for evil sure did wonders for the ol' muscles.

But he had no interest in holding a conversation with any of them.

Somehow Toki managed to be the most tolerable and still, STILL got on the last of Chuck's nerves on the regular.

They must have been the most obnoxious people in the world. If women knew what Skwisgaar was like on his days off, they'd stay virgins for life. And frankly, Chuck was avoiding alcohol twice as much as normal after meeting Pickles and taking him barhopping out of sheer obligation. Nathan was a completely apathetic asshole, and then there was Murderface.

William. Cockfucking. Ass-licking. Murderface.

The most emotionally unstable, volatile, intolerable, immature, cruel, dirty-mouthed and OBNOXIOUS human being on the face of the earth. Broke shit all the time, pissed on the walls, treated every Klokateer like absolute fucking garbage, Chuck hated him more than he hated paying taxes. Picking up the broken shards and strings of his annihilated bass guitars in the halls took up hours of his stupid fucking work days.

"Hey. Hey! Hey!"

Speak of the devil. He was short and chubby and grotesque up-close. Covered in pockmarks and malformed micro-scars dotting his jaws. His flat face twisted into a scowl. "Lischten to me when I'm talkin' to ya, asschhole!"

"Yes, sire."

"Alright. Good." He crossed his arms, backing away. "Now. You got any schmokesch on ya?" 

"Yes." He always did. Because someone would always ask. Snatching a cigarette out of the box Chuck held out, Murderface lit it, letting out a small puff of air into the black veil of his mask. Luckily, thanks to said mask, his eyes didn't burn out.

"Now I've got schomethin' me and you need to dischcussch."

Internally, Chuck was groaning. A man-to-man discussion with Murderface sounded like fucking torture. "Schay, anyone ever tell you you've got schuperb armsch? Lookit thosche bischepsch." Murderface ran a thick hand over his arm.

"What is it you wish to tell me."

"Oh. Uh, right. Well, the workload'sch been tough."

"Yes."

"Been a lot of schtuff goin' on, we juscht finished our album, and I'm feelin' generousch. Scho I'm about to give you the offer of a lifetime, buddy."

"...Pardon?"

"Juscht hear me out. You probably hate thisch job, right." The Klokateer didn't reply. "Come on, be honescht with me."

"It's... not the greatest, sire."

"Well you're free to take your anger out on me. In whatever way you want."

"...Excuse me?"

"Don't- don't schpeak too loud!" He took a deep breath. "I juscht- I dunno. I felt bad. Your job isch hard, I, uh... I-I reschpect that." His fingers were twisting together. "But I can be kind of a dick, and I wanted to make it up to you, scho you can do whatever you want. With me. About it. Your anger. Uh."

"So you mean I like. Own you. For some amount of time."

"Sure."

"And you'll do... whatever the hell I want."

"All you gotta do isch schay scho."

"So if I wanted to handcuff you to my bedpost until you like, piss yourself or something, you'd do it."

"Uh-huh."

"If I asked for twelve consecutive rounds of anal sex, you'd do it."

"Yep."

"If I made you call me, like... 'master', or 'daddy' or something."

"If that'sch what you want."

"If I wanted to beat you up and mock the living hell out of you, you'd fucking smile and take it?"

"Woah, scheemsch like yer on a power trip alre--"

"Would you?!"

Murderface swallowed and nodded.

"Mmhm."

Holy shit.

"And you don't even... mind."

"Think of it like I'm indebted to ya or schomethin', I dunno, man, isch fine! Juscht do whatever you gotta do!" His arms crossed and he looked away indignantly. "I'm doing thisch becausche it'sch what'sch bescht for the band."

That petulant scowl... imagining it just wiped clean off that asshole's face...

Suddenly his royal hideousness became like some kind of prize Chuck had just won. Shit, had he just wanted this all along? Really, Murderface wasn't... too bad looking, when he thought about it. Certainly not diseased, since he never got anyone in bed with him. Not to mention he was so thick there was hardly a space on his body that couldn't be squeezed tight between hands. For a night of debauchery and violence, he'd do... just fine.

"...Call me sir."

"Schir?"

"Good."

"A little tacky, don't you--"

"And do not speak unless given my okay." Chuck pulled his hood up, only so Murderface could see the ever-so-serious expression drawn across his face. "Now. To your bedroom, posthaste. We've got a great many things to do."

Murderface hunched his shoulders, turning around and running off in the direction of his bedroom. A dirty mess of empty bags, grime, scum, something that looked like blood? "Fucking shameful. This place is a mess. You're a fully grown adult, you know." Drunk on the power, he grabbed Murderface by the scruffy coils of his hair, pulling him upward. He whined, eyes wide as the skin on his forehead was drawn taut along his malformed skull. 

"Schorr--"

The back of Chuck's hand met Murderface's cheek, and if it weren't for the grip on his hair, he would have fallen off to the side. 

"I said no talking." He wadded up his cloth mask, throwing it over a bedpost. "Now I expect your utmost attention if you expect me to just put any argument we've had behind us. Nod if you're listening to me."

Murderface nodded. Sweat dripped down his brow.

And within a second, Chuck slammed his body against the wall as hard as he could. A bone-rattling shriek came from the bassist's throat as a clenched fist was driven into his face. He could feel the bruise. Warm and puffy. Pressing it caused Murderface to whine, as fingers once again met the locks of his hair, driving the back of his head against the wall. And fuck, his dick was getting hard, holy goddamn shit.

Chuck threw Murderface to the floor. His whole body went limp. And he drove a kick to his side. With his shoe on, as hard as he could. Then allowed silence for a moment.

"...Isch that it...?"

The moment he even attempted to get up he felt a fucking boot against his crotch and drove his arms between his legs.

"Speak up if this is too much for you." Murderface's still-lit cigarette long since abandoned on the floor, Chuck grabbed it and put it out on the exposed skin between Murderface's shirt and shorts, just above his half-exposed asscrack. "I don't want to get fired."

"Mmhm."

"That's 'yes sir', no mumbling."

"Yesschir."

"Good. At least you know how to take orders." Chuck sat on the edge of the bed. "Pants off."

Hauling onto shaking legs, Murderface clutched the waistband of his shorts. Chuck couldn't help but grin at the erection he was sporting. "Are you some kind of masochist? You're totally getting off on me kicking your ass."

"N-no. No, schir. Juscht doin' thisch for the band, schir."

His shorts fell down, without even a nod to the idea of wearing underwear. ("I'm freeballin' today", he'd always say.) His legs were hairy, thighs fat, penis sticking out at a crooked angle. Not particularly long, and a little chubby. Chuck already knew. Everyone and their mother had seen Murderface's cock, and nobody wanted to think too much about it. But having it this close and having dominion over it, for that matter, sent a rush through his spine.

"You ever had another guy see you naked?"

"Uh... a couple timesch."

"Right." He contemplated his next move for a moment. He wasn't sure if he wanted to bang Murderface or just... humiliate him a little? It sort of dawned on him for a moment how fucked-up this was, but he immediately swept the idea away. This was an offer straight from the bassist's mouth, and he wouldn't release any chance of screwing with him.

"Y-you have a fuckin' erection too, don't be all judgemental." He paused. "Schir."

"Don't give me lip. You're not in the position to." Murderface stuck his tongue out in reply. "Just get over my knee already, you fat fuck."

"Schafeword isch 'Dethalbum Three'."

"Kind of a mouthful, don't you think?"

"Isch for me, not for you." He crossed his arms. "And I doubt I'm gonna have to schay it anyway!"

"Hurry up!"

Chuck's hand, (a pretty fucking big hand) met the side of Murderface's thigh, producing a harsh smacking sound. He screeched a moment, then devolving into quiet grumbling as he flopped over two good, muscular Klokateer legs. "Shit... I think I prefer you this way. Much quieter."

His hand brushed over the curve of Murderface's ass. Soft, squishy, kind of hairy, tensing up every time he felt physical contact. Then, suddenly, a harsh swat, causing him to squeal out into the wall before biting his lip. The red handprint designing his backside would, if Chuck had his way, be a wonderful tattoo to see on the world's ugliest bassist. Another smack. Murderface's back arched, toes curling as he fell limply once more. Three in quick succession, a high-pitched, voice-cracking whine piercing the air.

"I'm not sure if you comprehend-"

Smack. His knees tightened. 

"-just how much I hate-"

Smack. His mouth fell open, too slack to close anymore, no time to hold back the inevitable wails.

"-working for your sorry ass."

With a free hand, Chuck latched back onto his victim's hair, pulling his head up so he could see the fresh, warm tears rolling down his bruised face. "You're nothing but a thankless, stupid asshole. So desperate you let me beat you up just so you can fucking get off?"

"Mmh."

"Did I give you permission to..." It was there that he caught sight of Murderface's expression. Completely blissed out. Covered with tear tracks, mouth gaped open and cheeks red. "...You sure you came here for the good of the band?"

"Don't juscht schit there, keep doing it!"

"Alright, I just-- Hey, I'm the one giving orders here!"

"Well asch a member of Dethklok I order you to keep doing it!"

Chuck blinked, before readying his hand once more, landing an almighty slap on Murderface's backside and watching him scream out a cacophony of swear words. "I'm gonna... I'm scho closche... Come on!" 

"Alright! Alright! For fuck's sake, you fat asshole, you have no right to be yelling at me!"

Once again skin met skin. And suddenly, from the bassist's throat came a scream of unholy horror. Something so fucked up Chuck wouldn't be shocked if they used it in an album once. Cum practically launched onto his floor, creating sticky pools on the tile. Chuck stared for a moment. William Murderface, his BOSS, now on the floor. Bruised, pantless, tear trails across his cheeks, drool on his lips, hair matted and dick now leaning against his leg. Not to mention his expression read as being half-dead.

Chuck had a wild hard-on. Quickly he blew his wad into a tissue, throwing it in the trash.

"...You feelin' good now, guy?"

"Hell yeah."

"Ready to do your job...?"

"I don't think I've cum that fast in ages, sire."

"...Alright. I'm goin' to schleep."

"I'd suggest taking a bath first."

"Fuck off, you don't tell me what to do."

Chuck sighed on his way out. Sure he didn't.


End file.
